


The Faint of Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Behavior, Age Difference, Alpha Peter, Bottom Stiles, Control, Emotional Manipulation, Fear Play, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Steter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles agrees to let Peter train him as the emissary, though he's none too happy about it and plans to ditch as soon as he possibly can. When their first studying session takes a turn for the sexual, he can't help but wonder what else Peter might be able to teach him. Unfortunately, Stiles doesn't realise he's in the deep end til he's drowning in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Scary alpha Peter is sexy Peter. Scared and weirdly-turned on Stiles is adorable. I really really needed this in my life, and I'm not gonna be selfish and keep it to myself. I'm not the first person to do this but I hope you guys like it anyway :) thanks for reading.  
> Title and quotes are taken from the song "The Camper Velorium: Faint of Heart" by Coheed and Cambria.

_The anxious through the calming storm, you’ll sit as you pray for rain_  
 _I’ll touch it if you ask me to but how is up to you_  


* * *

 

The most remarkable thing about Stiles was the fact he was so unremarkable. A perfectly normal boy who would have otherwise lived a perfectly normal life had his friend not been turned into a werewolf. Stiles doubted he’d have ever taken lessons in magic from the local veterinarian if Derek hadn’t returned, and all the events that followed. It was a pretty drastic turnaround. Technically, Stiles was still going to try to get into college on a scholarship, but even that would be changed – Deaton told him that being a druid immediately made you an emergency contact for any wolves in the area. Even if Stiles was a mediocre druid at best.

He didn’t like the word druid. He preferred wizard. It was a lot cooler, if less subtle.

So apart from the company he chose to keep, Stiles was pretty normal. He didn’t shapeshift, he didn’t grow a tail or change colours or disappear into a cloud of smoke. Actually, that last one probably wasn’t applicable. Stiles hadn’t seen anyone do that – yet.

And Stiles supposed it was this normalcy which gave him a bit of an upper hand when it came to dealing with the werewolves. Derek couldn’t order him around, and while other alphas were slightly more likely to kill him, Stiles wasn’t subject to their wolf-politics. He was a free man, and more importantly, a man who could tell Derek to stick it when he made ridiculous requests. Unlike Isaac, who had punched Stiles when the latter asked, “Does Derek ever let you off his leash? Or does he tie you up outside the shops?"

From the floor, after the hit, Stiles had said in an agonised voice, “Okay, you can punch – but you’re still Derek’s bitch! If he told you not to punch me, you’d have to obey!”

“In what world would Derek not condone violence against you,” Isaac had shot back, and Stiles figured he was right.

Things had all been going quite nicely until Derek had lost his alpha standing, basically handing it back to Peter on a silver platter. Stiles had to admit that Peter had grown on him a bit since he’d come back to life. He seemed genuinely interested in helping his nephew, despite all the sighing and eye-rolling that came with it. He hadn’t tried to kill anyone for a while. At least, nobody Stiles held close to his heart.

But Stiles was wary of what might happen now that Peter was alpha again. He’d been a bit of a crazy bastard before, not to mention his alpha form was fucking terrifying. Just thinking of the great big hulking thing that had stalked them through the school a few years back made Stiles shiver uncomfortably. It wasn’t a pretty thing to behold.

The first time Stiles encountered Peter after the alpha-swap was not very interesting. Stiles saw him at the supermarket. He felt his stomach drop when he saw Peter – he didn’t know what he was expecting, as if the man was about to wolf out and slit everybody’s throat in the seventh aisle. As though he could hear what Stiles was thinking, Peter turned slightly and caught his eye. Stiles didn’t make conversation, because the Sheriff was there, and that would have been an awkward conversation to have. Stiles simply nodded slightly, an acknowledgement, and Peter gave a smile.

Stiles once thought Peter’s smile was as scary as his transforming, but after having spent some time with the relatively calm Beta-Peter, he was less terrified now. Still, this wasn’t Beta-Peter anymore. This was Alpha-Peter. Scary, creepy, red-eyed, big-clawed, sharp-fanged, kill-you Alpha-Peter.

Stiles could feel Peter’s eyes following him as he walked in the other direction, towards cereal. He scratched the nape of his neck and tried to ignore the way the hair there was standing on end.

* * *

 

The second encounter was a little longer. Peter had called a gathering with everyone involved to explain the situation – that Derek had left, and Peter was alpha. No, he wasn’t Scott’s alpha anymore, not technically, and though Isaac was, Peter wasn’t about to order him around without first working out their dynamics, and learn how to get along (though Stiles was almost certain that Isaac would choose Scott to be his alpha anyway). Stiles spent most of the time chewing on the corner of his jacket, pulled up around his neck. It was cold in this loft. Lydia and Allison were also present, having been politely invited to be in the loop despite not being werewolves. For the first time, there were the same number of wolves as humans in the room. Stiles was more than a little pleased with that, having spent a long time being the only human in the wolf-pack.

He hadn’t given it any thought before, but he remembered how Peter had offered him the bite. It was a little hazy, Stiles’ mild concussion hadn’t done much to help his memory, but he vaguely remembered being scared out of his mind. The threat of being turned by Derek was almost non-existent. Derek and Stiles got along but neither of them liked the idea of werewolf-Stiles. Derek would probably kill himself after a week – he’d said before that he could only deal with Stiles in short bursts. Peter was a different story, though. He had shown interest in Stiles being turned. More specifically, he had shown interest in being the one to turn him.

Bitten by Peter. Icky. Stiles scrunched his nose up. He hadn’t been paying attention to what Peter had been saying. The guy hadn’t even bothered to provide refreshments. What a jerk. Stiles was hungry.

After his long and diplomatic speech was over, Stiles fell into step with Scott and made to leave with him, but Peter called out, “Stiles, could I have a word?” Like he was one of Stiles’ teachers asking him to stay behind to look at a poorly written essay or something.

Scott offered to wait, but Stiles said he’d see him after. They had arrived separately – Scott got around a lot better these days with his motorbike.

“Catch you tonight at mine, okay?” said Scott. “We're having pie.”

“What kind?”

“Spinach.”

“Melissa knows me well.”

Stiles walked back into the loft and went back to where he had been before. Peter had moved from his seat to put some maps away – wait, they’d been looking at maps? Stiles totally missed that detail.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I just wanted to ask how your studies with Deaton are going.”

“My studies?”

“Seeing as Deaton doesn’t like me and your counsellor was working with Deucalion, I’m short an emissary.”

“Uh, I’m probably _not_ the best person to be your emissary. Lydia is a lot smarter than me –”

“In case you have forgotten, I bit Lydia, possessed her and used her to bring myself back from the grave,” said Peter calmly, as though it was just everyday stuff. “I don’t think she would be interested in helping me.”

“What makes you think I’m interested in helping you?” said Stiles, mildly offended. “We’re not in cahoots. I don’t want to be in cahoots with you, and cahoots is basically what an emissary does. Spending all my free time with a psycho undead alpha werewolf isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. I prefer Playstation.”

“I can pay you.”

“Also, not a whore. Not going to prostitute my brain out to you. It deserves a little more respect.”

Peter stared at Stiles for a long moment and Stiles shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a little less confident than he had been before. “You know,” said Peter, walking back around the desk. “I find you fascinating, Stiles.”

“Uh, that’s nice, I – guess?”

“Because you’re not afraid of me.”

“Don’t kid yourself, I’m fucking terrified of you. Doesn’t mean I’m going to bend over and take it like a bitch. I have my own agenda.”

Peter was a little too close for comfort now. Stiles went to step back, but realised that doing so might provoke him further. He stayed put, swaying on the spot.

Peter smirked and Stiles swallowed his nervousness. “You aren’t afraid that I might just turn you?” He spoke slowly, dragging his words along his tongue.

“If I’m a wolf, I can’t be your emissary,” said Stiles, feeling those hairs sticking up on his neck again. “Can't have both.”

“Oh, if anyone could pull it off, I’m sure you could,” said Peter. Stiles was really very scared for a moment that Peter would jump him then and there, tear most of his throat out and only leave enough of him to survive into werewolfdom.

He was about to say something along the lines of, “please don’t kill me,” when Peter spoke again. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then. We’ll get started on your training.”

“I – what? My training?”

“As emissary,” said Peter, looking pleased with himself. “Like you said, you’re not up to scratch yet. Deaton can do his best but he’s got a full time job. Animals to neuter and whatnot. You’re going to start learning from me. I’ve got a few books you can take and read tonight, and when you come back tomorrow we’ll talk about the practical elements of the training.”

“Are you giving me some sort of curriculum? That’s rich, considering I haven’t said yes,” said Stiles, but his words were stopped as he lost his breath from the weight of the books Peter had dropped into his arms. Glancing down, and then back up with an unimpressed frown, he said, “Have you forgotten I am a high school student? Pop quizzes every week, buddy. Not fun. Not much time for recreational reading.”

“You’re a clever boy, I’m sure you’ll manage,” said Peter, and if Stiles hadn’t known better, he’d have said it was almost a purr. The man was so weird it hurt. “We’ll have our own little _quizzes_. Better get home and do some reading before you get caught up with that spinach pie.”

Stiles scowled as he staggered out the door with the heavy books. “Eavesdropping asshole,” he muttered.

“Heard that too.”

“Good.”

* * *

 

Stiles felt that their lessons would be like the time they used to spend together, when Stiles was left behind and Peter didn’t want to go out with the pack. They’d formed a sort of tolerance for each other that drifted into a mutual, sarcastic understanding towards the end, but now Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to be in close proximity with Peter now he was the alpha. Still, he did have to learn somehow, if he was going to be useful at all to Scott in the long run.

That was pretty much what made up his mind, being able to help Scott. Stiles knew he wasn’t going to follow Peter around like a manservant for the rest of his life, he was a part of Scott’s pack, to use the term liberally. Stiles had pretty much decided, on the day he knew he had druid potential, that he was going to be Scott’s wingman for life. Given that Scott was showing signs of being an alpha anyway, according to every single werewolf on the block, Stiles figured it wouldn’t be long until he needed one. He’d probably go to Deaton but Deaton wouldn’t be around forever. Stiles cringed at how morbid that thought was, anticipating the death of a close friend. But considering how many people had died lately, it wasn’t completely unjustified.

They talked it over on Saturday night over the delicious spinach pie – god damn it was amazing. Stiles had never heard of such a thing until he met the McCalls. It was the most perfect, thick layer of crunchy pastry and the insides were delicious, savoury, scrumptious, _ugh_. It made Stiles mouth water just thinking about it, and he could hardly make conversation because his mouth was full of food at all times.

“What do you mean, training with Peter?”

“I mean, he’s gon’ teach me how to be an’missary,” Stiles managed around the mouthful of food.

Melissa looked concerned. “What about Deaton, can’t he teach you?”

“Deaton works full time,” said Stiles, having finished that mouthful, washing it down with some water. “Peter’s only full time commitment is to himself. Besides, he has a wicked collection of books – Deaton would probably cry if he could see them.”

“What if he – y’know,” said Scott, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Turns me? Nah, he won’t. We have a mutual understanding. Or, he thinks we do. He reckons I’m going to be his emissary once he’s finished training me, like for good. But I’m pretty sure I’ve already been signed on for you, hey buddy?” said Stiles cheerily, giving a grin.

“So what you’re going to do,” said Melissa, thinking it over, “Is steal all the information and resources you can from a sociopathic alpha werewolf and then run away to another alpha.”

“Ye-ee-es,” Stiles said slowly, not liking the way she made it sound. “Ah. I see your point.”

“It’s not the greatest idea you’ve ever had.”

“And you’ve had some bad ones, let’s be honest.”

Stiles pulled a face at the McCalls, tag-team attacking his ideas. Which were _all_ brilliant, thank you very much. “I get no support. Look, this isn’t like a contract-thing, he’s just under the impression I’m going to side with him. If I haven’t signed up for it, he can’t hold me to it. Besides, he likes me. He isn’t going to kill me.”

“He likes you?”

“Well the word he used was ‘interesting’ but I think that means he likes me.”

After a little more conversation, both Scott and his mother let it go. Stiles knew they were just concerned for him, and rightly so. Peter was a certified loony tune. But he knew what he was doing, and he was doing it for Scott. Besides, Peter wasn’t out to get him. He’d be alright.

* * *

 

The next morning was bright, sunny enough to not have to walk around with a blanket, and cold enough to still wear a few comfy layers. Stiles was pleased with that. He didn’t like wearing shorts much, he thought his legs were too skinny – especially when compared with everyone else on the lacrosse team. God, Danny’s legs were ridiculous.

Stop thinking about Danny, thought Stiles as he shovelled corn flakes down his mouth. He loved cereal. His dad was still sleeping, having been at the office late, hence the dinner with the McCalls. Scott often came over for dinner when Melissa was working a night shift. It was a good system they had going on.

Not sure what time he was expected at Peter’s, Stiles showered and then decided to sit down and read a little more of the books he’d been given before going. No point going in unprepared, that was just asking for trouble. Peter would not be impressed.

Stile wasn’t sure why he was concerned with what Peter would think. Oh well.

He was eating Doritos as he skimmed the pages, looking for important information, when his phone began to ring. Licking the cheesy-salty-goodness off his fingers, he picked his phone up and said, “Yellow.”

“ _Oh, so you’re awake. What time are you coming over_?”

Stiles frowned. “Peter?”

“ _No, it’s your girlfriend_.”

“Oh, in that case let me just put my best aftershave on and I’ll pick up some flowers on the way.”

“ _Do you even own aftershave_?”

“Yes but it's one of those magazine samples.”

“ _What time can you be here_?”

“What’s the rush?” asked Stiles, spinning in his chair.

“ _I was under the impression you’d be thoroughly educated by now._ ”

“I’ve done some reading.”

“ _I meant here_.”

“Do you – did you seriously think I was coming over all day? Like for the _whole_ day?”

“ _That was the general idea. I won’t get to see you as much as I’d like so we have to cram the study in over the weekend_.”

“Well you didn’t explain that to me yesterday, Moon-moon. How am I supposed to read your mind?”

“ _I thought it was implied, but apparently not. Get yourself over here within the hour. And don’t call me Moon-moon._ ”

Stiles blinked as the line cut out. Wow, Peter went sweet to sour in a matter of minutes. Stiles shoved the phone into his pocket and figured that killing more time would just serve to piss Peter off so he made his way out, leaving his dad a note to say he was at a study group. Which technically wasn’t a lie. But he wasn’t about to tell his dad he was spending time with Peter Hale. That was a conversation that needed a little more alcohol and a well-cooked meal to smooth it all over.

* * *

 

The drive to Peter’s loft didn’t take long, and Stiles had brought a backpack to carry the books in, so he could actually use the elevator. Not that the elevator was much faster than the stairs anyway. He knocked at Peter’s door and got a bit restless waiting for him to answer.

When he did, Stiles brushed past him and said, “I thought we were in a hurry or something.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Come on in.”

“Thanks. You got any food? Or drinks?” Stiles dropped the bag unceremoniously onto the table.

“I’m not giving you alcohol.”

“I meant like a coke or something.”

“No.”

“How do you expect me to study?”

“I have my ways.”

“Chocolate?”

“No. Take one of these,” he said, throwing a small packet to Stiles. He turned it over in his long fingers, trying to figure out what it was. It was written in a different language.

“What’s this?”

“Glucose tablet. It’s a faster sugar rush than any carbonated drink will give you.”

Stiles unwrapped the plastic, and looked a little unsure of the small white square. But when he bit into it, it tasted like compressed, powdery sugar, like the little candy blocks he used to steal from the cupboard as a kid. “Oh god, this is yum,” he said, shoving the rest into his mouth. “Got any more?”

“You’ve got ADHD, I’m not giving you more than you need.”

“Peter,” Stiles whined, and Peter simply smiled.

“If you’re a good boy, I might reward you.”

“That sounds vaguely perverted but alright,” said Stiles, taking a seat, trying to ignore the way his stomach did a little flip at being called a ‘good boy’. That was messed up.

When Peter said they were going to study, Stiles thought it was just a way of saying that they were going to talk about some of the basics, get a grip on the concepts before developing a better understanding. Apparently, they were going to dive straight in and Stiles was being flooded with information. It was like he was trying to dive into the pavement – he didn’t feel like he was going anywhere.

About three hours into the intensive reading and drilling, Stiles put his forehead on the pages in front of him, diagrams of berries be damned. “Ugh, please can we just stop – just for a little while. My brain is hurting.”

“You can keep going.”

“I cannot, I _will_ not.”

Stiles heard a chair move and then he felt Peter’s hand on the back of his neck. He froze up, muscles immediately going rigid, and took a sharp breath. It took him a moment to register that there were no claws, and – no, not even a tight grip. Just the slightest bit of pressure at the top of Stiles’ spine where Peter was resting his hand.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, Stiles,” said Peter, voice soft and floaty, like it was when he was trying to get his way. “But you’re a smart boy.”

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about being called a smart boy. Peter had called him a good boy before, too. It was all a bit much. He shook his head, pulling back up to stare at the book in front of him. “No, I’m not – I can’t. I have way too much going on in my head already, okay. I can do a little every night instead, I don’t – I _can’t_ work like this.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, and then Stiles stiffened again when he felt Peter’s hand take his chin and turn to face him. Stiles tried to not tighten up, but he felt very uneasy. “You’re saying that because you’re feeling under pressure. There’s a lot to remember. But you won’t be able to check your notebook every time the pack needs you. You’ll have to remember all this. You have to think on your feet.”

“I don’t deal well in panic situations,” said Stiles, knowing that right now was one of those situations. Peter was dangerously close, and it was kind of creeping him out how Peter’s fingertips had trailed down his neck.

“Hmmm,” said Peter. “We could always try to use incentives.”

“Like – more of those sugary things?”

“Yes. And other things.”

Peter’s eyes lingered for far too long. The guy liked eye contact and Stiles didn’t, as a general rule. He stared down, looking at Peter’s collarbone instead. Shit. That was a nice collarbone. Stiles suddenly had an urge to sink his teeth into it, just to see what Peter would do.

His brain shook itself, and he felt his skin grow hot. Where had that come from?

“I wouldn’t need to have my fingers on your pulse to hear how fast your heart is beating.”

“I - you're invading my personal space.”

“That’s a lie. You don’t even know what personal space is.”

“Well, it’s not one of my finer qualities –”

“I make you nervous.”

“No _shit_ , man. You could slit my throat in an instant and I’m supposed to sit here and let you take my pulse, I – I don’t even know what’s up with that.”

Peter was quiet for a moment and Stiles could feel his chest shaking as he tried to breathe slowly. This was not good.

“Are we going to ignore the fact you have a sexual attraction to my neck?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Stiles had leapt from the chair in the exact opposite direction to Peter and was staring at him with wide eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Your eyes glanced down. I could smell your arousal. What was it that caught your eye?”

Stiles swallowed. He was in deeper shit than he’d like to be, and he didn’t know if lying would get him out or dig deeper. And he was pretty sure Peter would know if he was lying. So he took another shaky breath and replied, “Your – your collarbone.”

That didn’t seem to throw Peter at all. He just gave a small smile, like he’d know the whole time. Smug bastard. “Is that the first time you’ve felt attracted to me?”

“Fuck, don’t make it sound so fucking casual. You’re _old_ , man. If anybody’s collarbone deserves my attention, it’s not yours.”

“Don’t avoid the question.”

“ _Fine_ , yes, it’s the first time. Jesus.”

Peter took a step closer and Stiles took a step back. Peter smiled and Stiles shook his head. “No. Nu-uh. Not happening. I’m leaving, I’m taking your stupid book – no, _keep_ the damn book, I’ll steal one from Deaton. He can teach me at work, I’ll groom cats or something –”

Stiles made to leave, hand on the strap of his backpack, but then Peter’s hand was on his bicep, holding him still in a vice-grip. Stiles was surprised at that, he’d deliberately taken the long way around the table to avoid stepping close to the alpha. He moved very fast.

“Stiles,” said Peter, drawling. Like Stiles was behaving irrationally. No, Stiles was not behaving irrationally. Stiles was reacting in a perfectly normal way. Running away was perfectly acceptable as a response to this situation.

“Ow, ow, that hurts, let me go,” said Stiles pulling his arm back, but to no avail. Fuck. Peter was strong.

“Cut that out. If you run away now, I’ll just chase you down again. That’s how this works. I need an emissary, and you need to stay alive.”

“No, you need to let me go –” Stiles began, but he gasped when Peter gripped tighter. “ _Ouch_!”

“Stop fighting. How old are you?”

“I – what? Ow-ow-OW-okay! I’m eighteen.”

“Have you had sex before?”

“JESUS.”

“Stiles.”

“YES. For GOD’S SAKE let me go –”

“So you know how it feels to be aroused?”

“Ow – yes. And it doesn’t feel like you breaking my arm.”

“Alright. We’re going to sit down and talk about this.”

“There is nothing to talk about!” Stiles protested as he was dragged back to his seat. Peter kept a heavy hand on his shoulder to keep him there. Stiles couldn’t help but glare up at him.  “Asshole.”

“Don’t get angry at me, you’re the one having a sexual reaction to my clavicle.”

“Oh my god, it was like two seconds! Not even! You were freaking me out, I – don’t like eye contact, and I was just trying to find something else to focus on.”

“Fear turns you on.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Do you get turned on by fear? Or is it the power imbalance that gets you off?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Stiles said, offended.

“Fine. You don’t have to,” said Peter, looking exasperated. “But you weren’t just turned on by peeking down my shirt, Stiles. When I put my hand on your neck, the first time,” he said, moving his hand back to the same position, “You were excited by that. And when I called you a good boy. Don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

“How can you know that I wasn’t terrified, huh?”

“The pheromones are different. You smell different when you’re happy, or sleepy, or aroused.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“You were terrified, as well. But that’s all a part of the attraction, apparently,” said Peter, and then Stiles felt something sharp on his skin – a claw, dragged down the back of his neck, not breaking the skin but leaving a tiny white stripe from his hairline to the first vertebrae. Stiles went rigid again and held his breath unconsciously, certain that Peter was about to tear out his spinal cord or something.

And then, to Stiles’ horror, he felt blood rushing south. Peter was right. Oh god. This was fucked up. Stiles didn’t even know that he could be turned on by this. What the fuck was wrong with him? This wasn’t right. This made zero sense. None whatsoever. He had never even thought of Peter like that before, and now his cock was twitching at the thought of being at Peter’s mercy.

Maybe it was some kind of fucked up power-complex, Stiles thought. He was attracted to people with power. Lydia was a prime example, she was basically a queen. He’d spent most of his puberty years lusting after her, before he had even known what lust was. Maybe this was the same, but on a much, _much_ bigger scale, and with a much more dangerous and powerful man.

As Stiles mind was running over and over what was going on, Peter raked the same claw around to Stiles’ neck, tracing a line beneath his jaw, all the way down to his Adam’s apple. Slowly, incredibly slowly. As he did, Stiles exhaled, unable to stay still for much longer. When Peter dragged it back over the soft flesh at the juncture of neck and shoulder, Stiles shivered, and when he spoke it was dangerously close to a moan.

“Peter –”

“I know,” said Peter softly, and then the claw was gone, and he was gently rubbing circles into Stiles’ skin. “Tell you what we’ll do – we’re going to approach your studying with incentives.”

Stiles’ mind was hazy. He couldn’t believe how such a small amount of contact could make him feel like this. “Incentives?” he repeated numbly.

“You can study throughout the week, and come over every Sunday to show me how much you’ve learned. If you get it right, I’ll reward you.”

Stiles licked his lips. He didn’t want to get involved with Peter, but – this wasn’t a relationship, though, right? This was just – incentives, Stiles thought. A way of learning, about herbs and spells, and also about my own turn-ons. Wow. Okay. Peter Hale is going to touch me. That’s freaky. That’s sexy.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed, barely able to think.

“Stiles?”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

Stiles couldn’t see but he could hear Peter’s smile in his voice. “Oh, I can.”

* * *

 

Stiles had to admit the short and scary respite had certainly cleared his mind of any other rubbish, and studying was going better now. Now all he could think about was Peter, and as a result, he was concentrating on his work a lot more. If I get this right, Peter will touch me. Or scare me. Either one seems to do the trick, he thought.

But all he got was a brush of skin against his arm, a gentle touch on the side of his leg. It wasn’t much, but Stiles knew every time he took a sharp breath, Peter heard it, and the smug bastard looked very fucking pleased with himself by the end of it.

It was only when Stiles got up to get himself another glass of water that any real progress was made. He was standing by the table, looking over the book, and he didn’t think Peter was nearby. He’d gone to the toilet or something. He decided to make his reappearance by placing a hand on Stiles’ hip, standing right beside him. Stiles nearly dropped the glass in his hand and had to place it firmly down on the table.

“Don’t creep up on people like that!” he said grumpily, but he could hear his voice shaking. He was so uptight. He didn’t know what Peter was going to do at any given moment – it was both exhilarating and unnerving. Frightening.

Peter smiled. “Sorry. I forget you can’t hear as well as me.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, and barely moved when Peter turned to stand in front of him, and then his hands were leaning on the table, and he had effectively trapped Stiles. Stiles bit the inside of his lip.

“You’ve done very well this afternoon, Stiles,” said Peter slowly, and inched closer.

Stiles still couldn’t think of anything coherent, but instead of keeping his mouth shut he said, “I – yeah. Thanks.” He felt immediately stupid.

Peter’s hips were pressed against his now, and he had dropped his face to brush his nose against Stiles’ neck. Stiles felt a shiver pass through him as Peter’s hot breath woke his skin, his lips barely touching, his slight stubble barely a tickle.

“I could do it,” Peter murmured, and his voice reverberated through Stiles’ skin, his neck, his bones, his body. “One bite, and you’d be mine.” His grip on Stiles’ hip tightened as he spoke.

Stiles was properly scared at this stage. Peter could crush him, kill him in an instant, but his lips were soft and his voice was soft and his touch was to die for. Maybe it was worth the risk.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles managed weakly. “Peter – please, I – I can’t –”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t take it, I need – I need you to do something, please.”

“What would you like me to do, Stiles?”

“Don’t ask me that, I don’t know.” Stiles glanced away, to the side, unable to look Peter in the eye.

Peter took that as an invitation, apparently, and a second later Stiles gasped as he felt a hot mouth attach to his neck, kissing the skin, tongue darting out to the dip of his neck and back up again. Stiles writhed against the table, against Peter, unable to stop himself – his neck had never been shown this much attention, and Peter was a fucking expert with his mouth.

When Stiles felt teeth graze against his flesh, he immediately flinched, hands darting from the table to grasp Peter – but Peter was anticipating it, and he caught them, slamming them back to the hard surface. “Keep them there,” he said, and his voice was lower now. Stiles gulped down all the nervousness he could and nodded slightly. This was new. This was hot. He could feel his pants getting tighter.

Stiles felt the teeth again and he gasped. “Peter, don’t –”

“Shh, I’m not going to,” Peter mumbled against the skin, and his hand was pushing Stiles’ shirt up to graze over the smooth skin beneath, which made Stiles lose even more of his brain. “Your fear is intoxicating. It feels so good, Stiles – you feel so good.”

Stiles opened his eyes and he could see Peter’s neck, his collarbone. He couldn’t help himself. He curled into Peter’s embrace and gently pressed his mouth to the skin there – a second later, he was thrown back against the table, Peter’s hand on his chest. Stiles was flat on his back, his feet dangling above the floor.

“Shit – I – I’m sorry,” he stammered, fear flooding him all over again. He had momentarily lost concentration, the way Peter was touching him was so good. “I just – I wanted to touch you –”

Peter shushed him again with a finger on his lower lip. “It’s alright, Stiles. But you don’t do anything without my permission. Alright?”

When Stiles didn’t reply, Peter only had to shift his hand to Stiles’ neck again and Stiles replied hurriedly, “Yes, yeah, okay. I won’t do it again.”

“Good boy,” said Peter, and Stiles actually blushed at that, and blushed even more when he realised he was blushing. God. It was like a self-fulfilling prophecy of humiliation.

But he kept his hands flat on the table as Peter licked and kissed at his skin. Stiles was impressed with his own self-control, or at least he was until Peter’s hand inched back up his shirt and his (now-human) fingernails tugged bluntly at the skin. Stiles arched his back, a soft moan falling from his lips, and Peter hummed against his neck in approval.

Stiles couldn’t take much more. “Please, please, oh my god – Peter, I –”

“What do you want, Stiles?” Peter asked, shifting up to look at him with eyes that flashed dangerously dark for a second.

Stiles took a shaky breath. That was a loaded question. He really wanted to just rut up against Peter until he came, or sit in his lap and have Peter jerk him off. The thought of having Peter’s dick inside of him didn’t arrive until a moment later, and Stiles blushed furiously. He hadn’t even thought of that. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that it was even a possibility. But oh god, it was. Shit. Oh shit.

Peter reacted to Stiles’ panicked breathing before Stiles could even register it was happening. He placed a gentle hand on Stiles shoulder and said softly, “Breathe.”

Stiles forced himself to take a long, deep breath that stretched his lungs, exhaling until he was empty again, a few times over until he was alright. “I’m sorry, I don’t – I’m not good at – asking for things,” he said, not meaning to make it sound so vague. “And this is so – _different_ ,” he said, struggling to find a word to describe how he felt. _Scary_ and _sexy_ sounded too polar, _new_ sounded boring, _awesome_ sounded too juvenile. It was all of them at once and Stiles didn’t have a word for how he was feeling.

Peter’s gaze was softer now, like he had shifted from predator to concerned tutor in the blink of an eye. “I know,” he said gently, gently brushing his knuckles against Stiles’ cheekbone. “I know. We’ll take it slow.”

“This is taking it pretty fast if you ask me,” said Stiles, trying to sound funny but failing miserably.

“I wouldn’t say that. I wanted to tear your clothes off as soon as I knew you wanted me.”

Stiles took a sharp breath. Peter’s voice could tear him to shreds without even touching him. He could talk like this forever and Stiles wouldn’t mind, he’d just be in a constant state of delusion and sexual need.

“T-tell me more,” Stiles said, before he could stop the words from coming out.

Peter leaned closer. “I want to take you. Make you mine. I want to leave bruises all over you – in your soft skin, on your wrists, on your hips. Hold you tight, make you think that I’m going to crush you.”

Stiles made a slight keening sound, closing his eyes and throwing his head back against the desk, as Peter’s hand began to rub along his hips again, one finger ducking beneath the denim to tease at the skin below.

“I want to taste you. I want to know what you feel like inside. Touch you until you’re writhing and begging me for more, and I’ll touch you inside, put my fingers and my tongue and my dick inside you, stretch you, fuck you until you’re crying. Bury my claws into your flesh until you bleed. I want to _taste_ it.”

Stiles was so caught up in the images being pulled to his mind he didn’t realise Peter had unbuttoned his jeans and slipped a hand into the heat below, grasping Stiles’ erection and tugging gently. Stiles’ cry was guttural and unexpected, and he immediately thrust up into the friction, needing more, wanting more –

“Relax, Stiles.”

Stiles hadn’t realised Peter wasn’t moving. Peter was still, he was the one causing all the friction.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry –”

“It’s okay. Don’t apologise.”

Stiles felt so high-strung, desperate, out of his mind. He’d never felt like this, needing so badly to be touched, to be _acknowledged_ like this. It was something else. It didn’t even feel real, it felt like he was dreaming. He couldn’t feel anything but where Peter was touching.

Peter nosed gently at Stiles’ jaw again, and he said, “What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles didn’t panic this time. He said the first thing that came to mind. “I want you to kiss me.” Stiles blinked. Did he actually just say that out loud?

Peter didn’t seem bothered by it though, and when he brushed his lips over Stiles’, it took Stiles a moment to respond. Peter was _kissing_ him. Jesus Christ. Peter’s mouth was warm and soft and it only took Stiles another second to moan and kiss back, hungry for the contact, for the taste. Peter was a really good kisser, like _really_ good – he knew just where to pull and move and lick, oh god, his tongue – his tongue was darting out to Stiles’ lower lip, like he was asking for permission even though Stiles’ mouth was already open. Peter’s tongue, velvet-soft and hot, danced languidly into Stiles mouth, stroking behind his teeth, filling him, tasting him, swallowing every moan –

Stiles hips stuttered and he came a moment later, with Peter’s tongue down his throat and hand on his cock. He cried out and thrust up, shuddering as he came, white hot strings leaping out, catching on his shirt, his happy trail, running down over Peter’s hand.

He was completely lost, dizzy, his breathing coming in short, sharp hiccups, his vision blurred and spinning. He’d hardly been touched and that was the most intense orgasm he’d ever had. He only came back to reality when Peter pulled his hand away, moving against the sensitive flesh as he did so, and Stiles gasped. He had pins and needles everywhere. In his brain, his eyeballs, his balls. It was _fucked_ up.

And Peter slid his hand back down again and Stiles stammered, “No, no I can’t – too much –”

Peter sighed but did as Stiles asked, releasing him. He left, for a moment, and came back with a cloth.

“I sure hope you don’t plan on using that for dishes anymore,” Stiles said, his voice wavering.

Peter chuckled. “Not likely.”

As he cleaned Stiles up, removing the sticky white fluid from his skin, his shirt, Peter said quietly, “You did well.”

“I – I did? I didn’t do anything,” said Stiles, frowning.

“You did everything you were told to,” said Peter. “You studied when I told you to, answered my questions when I asked them, stayed still when I asked. You’ve been very well behaved.”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You know, good behaviour isn’t exactly one of my finest qualities.”

“I know. That’s why I’m so pleased with you. It’s why I’ve rewarded you,” said Peter, and Stiles was genuinely surprised when the older man moved up to press another kiss to his lips. “And that’s why I’ll continue to reward you when you do as I ask. You’re going to learn a lot, Stiles.”

Stiles knew that the learning wasn’t just going to be about funky magic plants, either.


	2. Chapter 2

_No I’m not going to let you get up if you struggle willingly_   
_I’ll favour all your form to show you how it’s been done to me..._

* * *

 

Stiles had always been good with homework. He was a straight-A student; just because he was easily distracted and lazy didn’t mean he wasn’t smart. But being set homework by Peter seemed just a little degrading.

Yet here he was, chewing away on pistachio nuts and reading, re-reading, triple-reading the first few chapters of Peter’s book to drill the information into his head.

Apparently, the curriculum went something like this: magic plants, then magic trees, and then onto planets and moon phases, solstices and whatnot. After he’d learned all the theory, they’d start collecting ingredients and practicing so that Stiles could have a decent collection of powders, cures, twigs and berries in his ‘apothecary’, as Peter liked to call it. Stiles called it his bathroom closet but that was pretty much the same thing.

He was actually excited. He liked the idea of being the local witch-doctor. He’d actually be useful, like _properly_ useful. Derek would have no reason to be angry at him. Well, considering Derek had driven off into the horizon, maybe Isaac would be impressed. Scott was a given. What about Lydia? What might she think?

Stiles leaned back in his chair, yawning. He was tired. He didn’t want to go over it again. He’d been studying all week, and tomorrow was Sunday. Peter would probably be impressed, considering Stiles had actually put a decent amount of work into homework he had no obligation to do.

Well, no obligation unless Stiles wanted an orgasm. And Stiles did. He wanted several of them, in several different ways. Peter had made it quite clear last week that if Stiles studied he’d get rewarded. And that had kept Stiles up a few extra hours most nights this week.

And probably again tonight. Yeah, he was tired, but he wasn’t _that_ tired.

* * *

 

 

On the way to Peter’s apartment, he suddenly felt nervous. He hadn’t seen Peter in a week. What was the protocol for treating a study partner who had jerked you off? Was he supposed to give him a hug or something? A sly wink as he sauntered over to the desk?

Probably not the best idea. He decided to just be normal – as normal as he could manage – because he was pretty sure Peter was into this as much as he was. It wasn’t something you do to someone unless you like them, and have thought about doing the dirty with them. And Stiles hadn’t been there yet, but he was pretty sure Peter was going to be very good at doing the dirty.

Everything went pretty smoothly – Peter gave him one of those sugar things again, and gave him a bottle of water, and they sat down on the couch and reviewed what Stiles had been studying. Peter seemed fairly pleased that Stiles mostly knew what he was talking about, and now Peter had the book in his hands, flicking pages every now and then to choose a different plant, and Stiles would tell him what it was used for. It was like a pop quiz.

Stiles was enjoying himself a bit too much, and was pretty smug that he knew most, if not all, of the answers. Peter flicked another page and said, “Vervain.”

“For a steady – mind? Wait, no, no, that’s – that’s valerian. Vervain is, um – used for anxiety. Helps to stop anxiety and depression.”

“Primrose.”

“Truth serum?”

“Yes. Celadine.”

“To get out of handcuffs.”

“You mean imprisonment.”

“To get out of imprisonment, including handcuffs.”

Peter sighed but kept going. “Monkshood.”

“Throwing someone off your scent.”

“Skullcap.”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but there were no words waiting there. He shut it again, eyes going slightly wide. He knew this one. Why couldn’t he remember it? Where had it gone? It was in his brain somewhere. Think, brain.

Peter had shifted in his seat and Stiles swallowed nervously. “I know this one, I know it,” he said, defensively.

“Then what is it?” Peter leaned closer and his lips were close enough for Stiles to feel the breath hitting his ear, and his hand skimmed over Stiles’ thigh. “ _Think_.”

“I just – gimme a minute, it’ll come to me.”

Peter’s fingers were suddenly digging into the flesh at Stiles’ leg, wrapping around his bone and ignoring the layers of muscle and skin between. Stiles cried out and tried to squirm away but Peter had dropped the book and had a hold of his arm, holding him close.

“You won’t get an extra minute when there are monsters trying to rip you to shreds, hunters firing bullets, wolves trying to kill you on a full moon, Stiles, _think_.”

Stiles couldn’t think, not with Peter snarling in his ear, not with the pain in his leg, the claws digging into his arm, his chest was tight and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, his head was spinning –

“Sleep,” he cried out, voice desperate and tight, “It’s for sleep, Peter, please –”

Peter released him and Stiles whimpered, curling into himself, pain throbbing through his thigh muscle, heart racing, adrenaline burning through him. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Had he completely forgotten who Peter was? What he was capable of? Stiles knew he was just trying to teach him but in this moment he felt betrayed and embarrassed.

A moment later Stiles felt Peter’s hand brush over his hair, and Stiles flinched. “Shh, it’s alright,” said Peter in a crooning voice. “But you need to remember these things, Stiles. You’re going to have to think on your feet a lot when you’re my emissary.”

“You hurt me,” said Stiles, feeling childish.

“I know. But you got the answer. You did well.” Stiles looked up to see Peter’s eyes, and he wasn’t angry anymore. “Come here.”

Slightly reluctant, Stiles allowed himself to be pulled into Peter’s arms, and Peter stroked up and down his back with his fingertips, gently and slowly, helping Stiles to relax. Stiles was pressed into the crook of Peter’s neck and it was only when his eyes had closed did he feel Peter’s hand slip further down to glide over the curve of his ass.

Stiles fought the urge to flinch again, not wanting to know what Peter’s claws could do to his behind. His wonderfully non-maimed and as yet perfect white ass. Stiles had put a lot of effort into making sure that wasn’t ever in the line of fire.

“Relax, Stiles,” said Peter calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you. If you’re well behaved, you get rewards.”

“This is so fucked up,” Stiles grumbled, feeling angry at himself for forgetting the terms of their engagement.

“You like it though.”

“Yeah, that’s _why_ it’s so fucked up.”

“Having a kink doesn’t make you different. Everyone has kinks.”

“Yeah, but this is like – weird.”

“How?”

When Stiles didn’t explain, he felt something sharp against his lower back, and he groaned. It felt good but he knew it was a claw, knew it could puncture a kidney. Peter spoke again, “Tell me what you’re thinking, Stiles.”

Stiles loved the way his voice sounded and he began to let the words fall from his mouth. “I don’t know how to feel when I’m terrified of you and you’re – y’know, kissing me and calling me names and whatever.”

“Feel like you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security?”

“Yeah, a little.” Stiles sighed, and felt his skin heating up. This was feeling more like a counselling session but his counsellor had never bad-touched him, and it was hard to concentrate with a hand kneading your ass. “I didn’t think there would be this much control. Of me. Or from you. I thought you’d, y’know – want something in return.”

“I can control myself,” said Peter. “I haven’t fucked you yet, despite how much I would like to.”

Stiles took a sharp breath. “We – are we going to have sex?”

Peter pulled back far enough for Stiles to see his smirk. “Only if you’re a good boy.”

Stiles was glad Peter kissed him because he would be so embarrassed at moaning just at being called a good boy. That was really not cool. Peter swallowed the moan and the one that followed when he thrust his tongue past Stiles’ lips and wrapped around his own.

He wanted so badly for it to keep going, wanted Peter to leave those red marks on his neck and fresh, purple bruises on his stomach and hips. The ones from last week had faded to a dull yellow and they weren’t all that pretty anymore. Stiles protested when Peter pulled away, despite himself.

“Peter – please, I just – want a bit more, please –”

Peter gave him one last sweeping kiss before pushing Stiles back to a sitting position. “No, Stiles. We’re not done yet.”

Stiles sighed. “Worth a try.”

“And I love how you try,” replied Peter, amused. He picked up the book which had fallen to the floor, and returned to the section he had been at before. “Ah, Wolfsbane. This is probably important...”

* * *

 

Stiles was growing frustrated. Frustrated at Peter for not touching him, and hurting him the only time he had. Frustrated at himself for being so damn turned on by being hurt. He wanted Peter to leave him raw and ragged and was it too much to ask for to just get off? What does a guy have to do around here to get a bit of sexual satisfaction?

Stiles got his response when they got to the end of the chapter and Peter asked him if he wanted a drink.

“A drink? No, thanks. Unless it comes with a complimentary orgasm.”

The next minute Stiles was slammed against the wall, winded and gasping for breath he couldn’t seem to catch. Peter had turned and moved so fast Stiles had barely seen it, and now he was on his tip-toes, held by the collar of his shirt by an angry werewolf. There it was again – the snap.

“I think I know why I like you so much, Stiles,” said Peter, dangerously low. “You aren’t scared of saying what’s on your mind. But that sharp tongue can get you into trouble, don’t you think?”

Stiles would have replied if he could form the words, his stomach still cramped and his lungs shallow, breathing uneven.

Peter’s head tipped to the side and he smiled and it wasn’t comforting. “Cat got your tongue?”

Stiles wondered if he would ever be able to make sense of the man. He _must_ be interested in Stiles. He had to be. He wouldn’t ask him over and offer him ‘incentives’ if he wasn’t interested. Or was Peter manipulating him? Was he using Stiles to get what he wanted, to get an emissary?

The thought made Stiles feel hollow, even more so than being physically crushed and having all the air shoved from his body.

“I know that you’ve wanted me to touch you all day, Stiles. I could smell it on you as soon as you walked through the door. But you’d better not forget how this little _agreement_ of ours works. I might have rewarded you but now I’m not sure I want to. Maybe I’d rather punish you.”

Stiles could see the tips of Peter’s teeth behind his lips, and the red bleeding into his irises. He began to struggle, his voice coming back in short and broken words as he pleaded, “No, no, I – I’m sorry, Peter, I don’t – I didn’t mean it, I just want – I want you –”

He could hardly believe what he was saying. Did he really want Peter that badly? He must do, his pants were getting tighter by the second as he was held against the cold brick wall, scraping through his shirt and hurting his skin.

“If you want to be rewarded, you have to be well behaved.” Peter’s voice was little more than a growl at this stage.

“I know – I’m sorry, Peter. I’ll do better next time, I promise – let me show you – okay, let me show you I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want, please,” Stiles said, choking on the words as they tumbled out. He was shaking, blood pumping, skin warming up.

“Don’t push me again, Stiles,” said Peter slowly. “You can ask for something if you want it. But don’t push me.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I promise.”

Stiles thought for a moment that Peter would let him go and they would just be alright. Peter did let him go, but he told Stiles that their study session was over and they would see each other next week. “I think I’ve had enough for one day,” said Peter, in that awful way, like what he actually meant was _I’ve had enough Stiles for one day_. Stiles was used to that, to people feeling like that, but he wasn’t used to this, nothing about this was familiar.

Scrambling over to where Peter had walked, Stiles grasped his arm and said, “Peter, Peter – wait, please, gimme a chance. I’m not good at this, at doing what I’m told, at knowing how to behave, and I know that I have to learn self-control, but I need something to hold on to. I need you, alright, you’re the only person who actually believes I can do this.”

Stiles felt the weight lift from his chest as he confessed to this need he hadn’t acknowledged before now, before this moment. Then, as Peter stared at him and said nothing, a frown hovering over pale eyes, he felt a rush of embarrassment and fear and nervousness, the balance was tipping, slowly tipping, and he was falling to the floor, knees collapsing beneath him as he gasped for breath, winded again by the force of his own emotion this time, falling, falling –

But he didn’t hit the ground, because Peter had his arms around him, holding him, lowering them gently so Stiles could collapse against Peter’s chest instead of the floorboards beneath. Stiles was cradled in Peter’s arms like a child and he heard him speaking.

“Breathe, Stiles,” Peter said. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

It took him a while but eventually he did, he took shaking lungfuls of air until he was no longer shaking, and then he leaned into the palms of his hands.

“Does this happen all the time?”

Stiles didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Stiles?” Peter’s voice was genuinely concerned. Or at least, that’s how it sounded. Stiles’ ears were still ringing.

“Yeah. Not like – all the time. I’m pretty good at like, holding it together. At school and stuff.”

“Do you take medication for it?” asked Peter, sounding genuinely concerned.

“No, I – I didn’t want to have to rely on medication, the way I do for ADHD. I did practical exercises. Like breathing through straws and stuff.”

“Breathing through straws?”

“Yeah.”

If Peter was confused he didn’t say so. They stayed in silence for a while, Peter’s hands gently drawing the tremors out of Stiles’ muscles until he was relaxed and the tears had been brushed away.

“You know, you can tell me how you feel,” Peter said. “You don’t have to keep it all in until it explodes. I know how you feel from the way you move, your heartbeat, your scent. I just want you to trust me enough to tell me.”

“But I do tell you. That’s what you like about me, remember?”

“You say what’s running through your mind, but you don’t talk about your emotions. And you should, with me. I need to know you inside and out, so I can protect you when you’re in danger and trust you to help me when I’m in danger. I need to know exactly what you’ll be thinking in any situation. You’re allowed to voice your feelings, your doubts, your insecurities, and not worry about what I’ll say. I won’t get angry at you for being curious or concerned, Stiles. You’re allowed to ask questions.”

Stiles, completely exhausted and slumped against Peter, felt words fall numbly from his lips. “Are you using sex as an incentive to make sure I don’t run away?”

“I want to be close to you, not to keep you captive.”

“Would you hurt me if I wanted to be Scott’s emissary?”

“I want you to be mine, but I don’t see why we can’t share you.”

 “Would you be angry if I kissed someone else?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

 “What if Derek comes back and wants me to be his emissary? What if you’re not alpha anymore?”

“Derek and I will deal with that. And I won’t just drop you because I’m not the pack leader.”

“What if you trust me to do something – like something you really need, like in a life-or-death situation – and I – I freak out, or get it wrong?”

“There’s no punishment for failure. If you trust me to look after you and do as I say, we should never have to worry about it,” said Peter gently, and he brushed the hair back from Stiles’ forehead. “You only get punished for misbehaving, which is not the same as failing. I think I was wrong about you, Stiles – you aren’t attracted to me because I scare you. You want this because you know I can take care of you, and you understand my power.”

“I don’t mind when you get a little dominant,” said Stiles, and couldn’t help a small half-smile as Peter chuckled. “I kinda – like being told what to do. Knowing you’re in charge. I think. I haven’t really been doing this long enough to know. But you’re right, about the – power thing. I think.”

“There is something quite profound about placing yourself in someone else’s hands,” said Peter. “You know I would never hurt you unless I had a reason. Unless I was trying to teach you something.”

“I know. You haven’t, y’know – pushed me around just for the fun of it. I’m always asking for it.” Stiles roughly wiped his face on his sleeve.

“Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Stiles said but his words softened and faded away as Peter leaned in closer and touched their lips together. God, he could be so gentle. It made Stiles so overwhelmed, that Peter could be so terrible and frightening one moment and so tender the next. And Stiles knew now that he didn’t want someone to frighten him, he wanted someone powerful who could care for him. But if there was a bit of rough sex he wasn’t complaining, oh no.

When Peter’s tongue darted inside his mouth Stiles melted into him and Peter growled low, making goosebumps rush across Stiles’ skin. Peter’s hand was sliding up his shirt and caressing the skin beneath and Stiles wanted so badly to be kissed all over and held by Peter for now until forever. God he was so fucking gone, he had been so determined to keep Peter at arm’s length and now he was arching into his hand, whining and writhing.

Stiles wanted to touch Peter too but he remembered the last time that he’d done that. When Peter’s mouth slipped down to his neck, he managed through his ragged breathing, “Can I – can I touch you?”

“Depends,” Peter murmured into Stiles’ throat.

“On?”

“Where.”

“Your – your neck. And chest.”

“Yes,” Peter replied, but it was much more like a growl this time.

Stiles knew he was holding his breath as he lifted his hand and gently ran his fingers across the skin of Peter’s neck, down from his jaw, across his collarbone – oh, that collarbone – and into the dip between, before sliding down into the gap of his v-neck shirt. Peter made only the slightest of noises, his hand sliding down Stiles’ middle to settle on the bulge in his pants. Stiles bucked up into his touch but was left whimpering and unsatisfied when Peter lifted his hand away. Stiles knew he had to keep still if he wanted to be touched. He had to behave himself.

He pressed the flat of his hand to Peter’s shirt and grasped hold, pulling him closer, kissing him harder. Stiles wanted to be surrounded by him and Peter seemed more than happy to oblige. Not a moment later he had picked Stiles up and was walking them across the loft, and for a moment Stiles thought they were headed towards the bathroom. And then he remembered the bedroom was down that hallway, too.

“Oh,” he said, clinging to Peter’s neck and shoulders for balance, the older man’s arms wrapped around his torso and legs. “Bedroom.”

“A rather boring choice, but I want you to be comfortable.”

The bedroom was not a room of red velvet and posh furnishings as Stiles had secretly hoped it to be. He wanted something to tease Peter about. But the bedroom was as normal as any other, no circle bed, no leopard print curtains, no furry wall. There were plenty of pillows, though, half a dozen different sized cushions decorating the plain white linen bed.

“Well that’s disappointing,” said Stiles as he looked at the room.

“What is?”

“Your furniture reveals _nothing_. Are you empty inside?”

Peter chuckled. Stiles was dropped onto the surprisingly comfortable mattress and bounced slightly before he settled into the pillows. “Comfy,” he said, raising his eyebrows up at the werewolf.

“I’m glad you approve,” replied Peter, as he leaned down and crawled over him. Stiles felt the breath leave his body once more as Peter’s bright blue eyes burned into him, watching him carefully.

Peter lifted his hand to trail his fingertips across Stiles’ cheek, down his face, pulling slightly on his bottom lip, parted as he tried to get oxygen. “What are you thinking?”

Stiles swallowed. “I don’t know. There’s a lot to think about.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah. I want it to be good. And I’m like, _very_ talented at fucking things up.”

Peter smiled. “Fortunately for you, fucking is integral to this particular exercise.”

“Oh, this is an exercise now? Part of my education?”

“No. But it should be.”

“You gonna teach me some new tricks?” Stiles asked, half-smiling.

Peter smiled back. “You know I will.”

When Peter lay down against him Stiles felt safer than he had in a long time. It was strange feeling, being almost totally surrounded by somebody, being under them, close to them, next to them. Held down by him. Maybe that was it, the feeling of being grounded. Stiles had never been very well grounded but Peter seemed to give him that, even if it was still a bit shaky and he wasn’t quite used to it yet.

When Peter kissed him and dragged his fingernails down Stiles’ stomach he gasped, arching up into the touch. He’d never been paid so much attention by anyone he’d slept with, not that he’d had much experience to go on with. But Peter seemed to want to trace every edge and line of his body, memorise every freckle and sensitive spot. By the time Peter began to pull Stiles’ shirt over his head, the teenager was already shaking, high on anticipation and sensation.

And when Peter pulled his own shirt off, Stiles didn’t even bother pretending to be nonchalant about it.

“You’re pretty fit. Y’know, for an older guy.”

“Charming as ever, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled at that before reaching back up to pull Peter back down to him. He felt far more naked when he wasn’t being held or covered by him. There must have been some murmur of nervousness in Stiles’ heartbeat or his breathing or something because Peter could tell there was something wrong straight away.

He paused in his kissing to ask quietly, “Are you alright? You’re nervous.”

“Of course I am, I told you –”

“No, this isn’t the same. It changed once the shirts came off.”

Stiles tried to brush it off but Peter was insistent and Stiles knew that lying wouldn’t cut it. Not with a werewolf. “I just – being naked makes me nervous.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” asked Peter.

“Just – stay close. Please.”

Peter leaned down and kissed under Stiles’ jaw, pressing their torsos together. Stiles let his head fall back, giving Peter all the space he needed to kiss and worry at the smooth skin there. When Stiles felt fangs, he tensed, but forced himself to relax. Peter rewarded him with a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good boy.”

Stiles had this weird feeling that the affection shown by a werewolf who kept his teeth to himself and his claws sheathed was something special. It was something else. Especially when one nick could turn Stiles, one little bite and he’d be a part of Peter’s pack. But Peter didn’t bite him, he let his lips trail down to Stiles’ collarbone and down his sternum to his stomach, and Stiles took a shaky breath when Peter glanced back up at him.

“Doing okay?”

“Better than okay,” Stiles replied quietly, as Peter flicked the button of his jeans and pulled the zipper down. “Much better than okay.”

Peter seemed pleased with that. He pulled off Stiles’ jeans with the teenager’s help, kicking his shoes off and lifting his hips to help out. He went to reach for Peter’s jeans but hesitated. “Can I -?”

“Let me,” said Peter, shrugging them off himself.

“So generous.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

It felt even better when Peter lowered himself down again, his leg sliding between Stiles’ thighs, rubbing against sensitive skin as he kissed him, hands brushing down to palm at the tent in Stiles’ boxers.

“Oh my god,” Stiles stuttered out as Peter kissed his throat and rubbed him through his underwear. It didn’t take very long for Stiles’ boxers to be pulled off and for Peter to kiss his way back down to Stiles’ hips and leave a dark purple hickey on the soft flesh of his stomach, almost as colourful as Stiles’ language as he did so.

His words disappeared altogether when Peter took him into his mouth. Stiles gasped, stammered something incomprehensible and tried not to thrust upwards too hard, too eagerly. But it was difficult to keep control. Luckily, Peter had a strong hand on Stiles’ hip and was keeping a steady pace.

Stiles couldn’t think. Peter Hale, alpha wolf, sucking his dick. Sucking his dick good. Was there anything he did below perfect? God help Stiles Stilinski. If he died right now he’d be a happy man.

When Peter stopped without warning Stiles let out a huge breath, deflating, opening his eyes to watch Peter lean over to the bedside table. Stiles was vaguely aware of what was coming next but it wasn’t until he saw the lubricant that it actually struck home.

Right. Sex.

Peter began to reassure him immediately. Of course he heard Stiles heart jump into his throat and his stomach drop through the bed, through the floor, through the several stories below.

“You’ll be alright. I promise. I know what I’m doing.”

“At least one of us does.”

Peter frowned. “You said you’d had sex.”

“I should clarify: I have never gone all the way with a dude. But I’m totally okay with it,” Stiles added hurriedly. He didn’t want Peter to think he wasn’t ready. Stiles wasn’t even sure that he was, but he was in a bit of a desire-fuelled haze at the moment and the thought of Peter being inside of him made his breath catch.

Peter kissed him gently and it made Stiles long for more, the way he lingered slightly.

Suddenly, Stiles had a thought. “Wait, wait,” he murmured against Peter’s lips, turning to the side to break the kiss and speak. “Werewolf sex doesn’t have any, like – weird side effects, does it?”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m serious! What if I like, grow a tail or turn into a frog or get pregnant or something?”

“Did Allison get a tail when she slept with Scott?”

“No but they used a condom, and I can see you haven’t got one. AND Scott wasn’t alpha when they did the dirty, and you are.”

“I’m not using a condom, Stiles. I can’t carry diseases and you can’t get pregnant, or grow a tail.” Peter gave him another kiss. “Trust me when I tell you that nothing bad will happen to you.”

“Better not,” Stiles muttered.

 “Turn over.”

“What?”

Peter grinned before sitting back. “You heard.”

Stiles tried not to show his embarrassment as he rolled over, resting his head on his folded arms. He shivered as he felt Peter’s breath on his back, the werewolf trailing his nose down Stiles’ spine, inhaling his scent, brushing his lips across the sensitive skin of the small of his back.

He bit the inside of his lip when a hand smoothed down his back and over his ass, kneading the skin with fingertips, not claws. Stiles wondered what it would feel like to have Peter’s claws in him. He shuddered and tried not to blush again, knowing it would never happen while Peter was alpha. It was too dangerous.

“You’re so lovely, Stiles,” said Peter, voice getting lower. “Flawless. Clean.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. “Uh – thanks?”

“Thank me later,” said Peter, and Stiles felt Peter’s hand on the inside of his thigh, pulling them apart. He let himself be manoeuvred and found himself a moment later with his ass lifted slightly into the air, and his legs spread with Peter kneeling between them.

Stiles could not have prepared himself for Peter pressing his face between his spread legs and licking a long stripe up over his perineum and asshole. Stiles cried out and grasped onto the pillow, pressing his face further into the soft material, shaking as Peter mouthed at his asshole, tracing his hot tongue around the rim before pressing inside.

“Shit shit _shit,_ Peter!”

Peter’s response was to place his thumbs at the edge of Stiles’ hole and open him further, licking deeper inside of him, holding Stiles’ hips so he wouldn’t jerk away too far. Stiles felt his cheeks flush red as he realised what Peter was doing and an internal battle began between his dignity and his libido. Cause goddamn, it felt good. But it was wrong. Peter shouldn’t. But Peter was. And Peter was turning Stiles into a puddle of nothing, nothing but nerves and blood in his ears and a brain re-routing all power to his dick.

And that was perfectly fine with Stiles. He didn’t care if it was wrong or weird or that he was being eaten out by a man old enough to be his father. It felt amazing. There was nothing else – at least, not until Peter’s slick finger slid inside of him, and Peter began to kiss back up Stiles’ spine until he got to his ear.

“Have you ever put your fingers inside yourself, Stiles?” he asked, voice little more than a murmur, lips brushing the shell of Stiles’ ear, sending shivers all the way down the left side of his body.

Stiles blushed as soon as he processed the question, heart skipping a beat, and that was all the answer that Peter needed. Stiles pushed his face further into the pillow and groaned, “Shut up!”

“You’re such a little deviant. Would you finger yourself for me?”

“NO!”

“Why not?”

“It – you do it better –” Stiles moaned, possibly even more embarrassed than before. But it was true – Peter’s fingers inside of him were thicker and deeper and moved to just the right places, better than Stiles could ever do alone. It was like Peter had attuned himself to every gasp and heartbeat and electromagnetic nerve message of Stiles’ body and he knew just were to move to make Stiles moan.

Peter said nothing as he pulled his fingers out and turned Stiles back over, leaning in to kiss again as he lined himself up to enter him. When he did, he moved so slowly Stiles thought he was in slow motion. It was a strange feeling, and Stiles twitched and tried not to move as he was filled. His lips were parted, neck arched back into the pillows. He was being stretched wide by Peter and filled up and it was only when Peter stopped did Stiles realise he was all the way inside.

And for the first time in a long time, Stiles had no words.

“Stiles?” Peter asked, his own voice surprisingly breathless. “Are you okay?”

Stiles managed a nod.

“Does it feel okay?”

“It’s – full,” said Stiles, barely able to hear his own voice.

“Uncomfortable?”

“A little. Yeah.”

“It’s okay. It’ll get better.”

“Just – s-shut up and do the thing, please?”

Peter smiled and kissed him before he began to thrust. It wasn’t as perfectly smooth and pain free as Stiles had hoped but he didn’t expect it to be. The first few slow thrusts were uncomfortable and it was too tight, too much – but when Peter gently lowered himself further into Stiles’ arms and gently, softly told him to relax, Stiles did his best to do as he was told.

And the rewards for his obedience were good. It felt better, _so_ much better once he was relaxed. His body opened up and let Peter in and when Peter thrust up into Stiles he was brushing right over his prostate and Stiles’ back was arching with every forward movement, thrusting back to Peter, gasping and clawing at the older man’s back as he tried to find something, anything, to hold onto.

Peter seemed to enjoy the fact that Stiles had completely fallen into oblivion and began to fuck him harder, but not faster than before. All of the embarrassment Stiles had felt earlier had disappeared, and he wasn’t blushing because of his shame anymore, but because of his pleasure. Peter kissed the redness that blossomed on his cheeks and neck, and gave a few more colourful spots of his own, sucking purple marks into Stiles’ neck, and Stiles didn’t flinch when he felt teeth. He turned away when Peter whispered that he was a good boy but not because he was ashamed but because he could hardly bear it, could hardly take it anymore, what with Peter fucking him slowly and whispering and sucking and kissing and biting and grasping –

Stiles came, his voice breaking as he cried out and spilled himself onto his stomach and chest, and suddenly it was all too much. He was over-sensitive, unable to breathe, unable to focus or think. Every thrust from Peter made him moan and whimper and he wanted it to stop but it still felt good, it just felt – too much.

When Peter took his hips, Stiles thought he was going to crush his pelvis he was gripping so tightly. And then he felt something else – something bigger. Like Peter had slipped another finger inside of him, but it kept going – more like several fingers.

Stiles cried out, as he felt his insides burn and flare in protest. Then he felt Peter’s come shoot inside of him – it felt hot, strange. It was weird. He wasn’t sure he liked it. No, scratch that, he definitely didn’t like it. His immediate plan was to scurry away and get it out, but as he squirmed he let out another shout as his body, stretched to the limit, protested again.

“Stiles.”

“Oh my fucking god I – I have to move, I can’t –”

“Stiles. Stop. Moving.”

Stiles glanced up to see Peter’s eyes were bleeding red into the blue iris. “Shit,” Stiles breathed. “Uh. Okay. What do I do?”

“Don’t move.”

“I have to –”

“You can’t.” Peter’s arms were shaking as he held himself over the younger man, and he gently lowered himself down. As he did, Stiles felt the bulge inside of him shift and he whined.

“Ow,” he said, as Peter rested on top of him.

“We could be here a while.”

“I – what’s happening?”

“It’s a werewolf thing.”

“You’re shitting me. Are you shitting me? A _werewolf_ thing? How come you didn’t tell me about this earlier? Like when I was asking about _weird werewolf shit_?!”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“You – _asshole_ ,” Stiles said, through the heavy breaths he was taking. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“I didn’t want to deter you.”

“So you just _forgot_ to mention this so I’d agree to do the dirty with you? _OW_!” Stiles had tried to move away again and was pulled back by Peter’s knot, holding him, keeping him there.

“Stiles, stop panicking. It won’t make it go away any faster.”

“You knew that I – that I’ve never had anyone do this before! I can hardly deal with your cock, let alone a fucking tennis ball being shoved up into my –”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. Besides, I thought you asked me to keep close.”

“Not this fucking close!”

“It’s not that bad.”

Stiles was about to respond with an “oh yeah you reckon” but he found that it was in fact quite numb and relatively painless, so long as he wasn’t trying to scurry away. He sighed, letting his head drop back to the mattress. “Oh my god.”

“Are you alright?”

Again, Stiles wanted to give a smart-ass response, but he restrained himself. “Yeah. It’s just – a bit much, that’s all. And I’ve never had anal. Or a – werewolf butt plug.”

“No need to be vulgar,” said Peter, gently kissing Stiles’ ear. “Did you enjoy it?”

“You were here, you know I enjoyed it.”

Peter chuckled and Stiles gasped as his cock twitched inside of him. “Jesus. Fuck. You’re still hard.”

“I know. Like I said, we’ll be here for a little while.”

“How long?”

“About half an hour. Though I haven’t had sex in a long time, so it might be longer.”

“Well that’s dandy. Not like I wanted to do anything anyway.”

“Don’t be so childish. Consider this the afterglow.”

“Yeah, with a cock still in my ass? That’s not afterglow.”

“Why don’t you make the most of your dire and awful situation?” said Peter drearily, tiredly.

Stiles laughed. “How do you expect me to – _oh_ ,” he gasped, his sentence cut in half when Peter rocked into him, the knot rubbing up against his prostate, still sensitive from the abuse it had suffered earlier. But it felt good. “Do that again.”

“Greedy,” mumbled Peter, but he did it again all the same. Stiles felt his eyelids flutter closed, his lips parted, blood rising to the surface of his skin, spine tingling from the sensation. He was so pliant, so spent that his body wasn’t fighting it anymore. He was so comfortable, so warm...

Stiles wasn’t expecting to have their positions changed, this was such a good place to be – but Peter had grasped his middle and turned them over, and Stiles was seated on him now, and the movement made him cry out, and it was only a moment later his body began to shake, tremors dancing through his muscles, tired and sore, not wanting to have to move. He wanted to keep going with it but he’d already finished, his dick felt raw and his muscles were sore from tensing up, legs from being bent, ass from being filled.

Peter saw him hesitate and gently slipped a hand around his neck as Stiles buried his face into Peter’s shoulder. “You’ve been such a good boy, Stiles,” said Peter, and his other hand slipped down to grasp Stiles’ half-hard and sore cock.

Stiles took a sharp breath. “Oh god – no, no, Peter, I can’t – can’t take any more.”

“Once more, Stiles. Keep moving.”

Stiles almost cried as he ground back down onto Peter’s cock, shifting the knot deeper inside. Peter held him close with one hand and touched him with the other, every forward movement a thrust into Peter’s grip.

“You’re so good, Stiles. You’re doing so well.”

“Christ, Peter –”

Stiles had bitten his lip so hard that blood began to seep from the inside, filling his mouth with a coppery, bitter taste. Peter pulled his mouth open and licked inside. Stiles moaned again as Peter tasted him, tasted his blood – Peter wasn’t allowed to bite him but Stiles could still do it very well by himself, and Peter wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to taste him.

Stiles’ words fell away and he lost himself in the movements, not lasting long before he came again with a weak, broken cry, collapsing completely against Peter, unable to move but for the shudders that followed, his insides over-worked and his cock completely spent.

“Good boy,” whispered Peter and Stiles shivered.

He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, with Peter gently kissing his cheek and neck, but when he woke up again he was still stuck. He tried to shift away once more but the knot was still in place and he flinched, making a small noise before relaxing again, reserved to his fate.

“Stiles?”

“I’m thirsty,” said Stiles.

“It’s almost over. Not long now.”

Stiles made a tired grumbling noise and pressed his face into Peter’s neck once more, in a semi-conscious state. It wasn’t long before Peter’s knot had gone down enough for him to slip out, though Stiles flinched as his over-worked entrance was stretched one last time to accommodate the departure.

Peter gently turned them over so that Stiles was on his back, which was easy enough because the boy was nearly boneless. He got up and left the room, assumedly to fulfil Stiles’ request. Sure enough he was back a moment later with a bottle of water in hand, and Stiles downed it all. He was really fucking thirsty. And tired. And sore. But it felt so good. He’d never felt so good in his whole life.

Peter left once more and when he returned he had a towel in hand and though Stiles’ ears were still ringing, he could hear the sound of running water. Peter lifted and carried him to the bathroom and lowered him into the bath, and Stiles hissed at the hot water.

“Too hot?”

“It’s okay,” Stiles replied, though it might have been a touch warm. His skin began to tingle and his toes and fingers went static. A moment later Peter slipped in behind him and Stiles leaned back into his embrace. The romantic moment didn’t last long because Peter began to scrub him.

“What’re you doing?”

“Cleaning you.”

“Have you got some sort of OCD I should be worried about? I mean, I’m not super impressed with being full of sperm but I don’t mind, considering the sex was really _really_ good. And come on my stomach isn’t exactly a new thing –”

“Stiles, I don’t have OCD,” said Peter calmly. “But I do know that Scott will smell this on you if we leave it for too long.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, Stiles considered panicking about what he was going to tell his friends when they eventually (inevitably) found out about him doing nasty things with Peter. It was going to be a nightmare.

Instead of panicking, Stiles chose to relax against Peter, letting the man clean him and run his fingers through Stiles’ damp hair and kiss his ear and neck. Stiles decided that enjoying a bath with a sexy manwolf was much better than panicking. He had all the time in the world to panic, and considering his new line of work, he might never again bathe with a beautiful man.

Stiles felt calm and satisfied and _safe_ in that moment and he wanted to make it last as long as he could.


	3. Chapter 3

_Did somebody take your tongue?_  
 _In worries of the words that you couldn’t say, if they could’ve saved them from_

* * *

_  
_

Stiles wasn’t allowed in the apartment unless Peter was there but he seemed to be spending more and more of his free time hanging around. He was growing plants in a number of mismatched pots that lined the windowsills, each with a small tag which had their species written on it. They had finished their theoretical learning a while back and Stiles was now practicing what he had learned, making sure his apothecary-bathroom-cupboard was well stocked at all times.

He was tending to the pot plants when he felt Peter’s hand on his hip. He jumped but in surprise, not fear. He didn’t know Peter was there. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me!” he said, “What if I’d cut my poor plant in half?”

“What a tragedy that would be.”

“Yeah, you try growing magic plants sometime, see how you like it.”

Peter smiled and kissed his shoulder. “I have to go away.”

Stiles paused. “What?”

“Derek called.”

Stiles spun around, eyes wide. “ _Derek_ called? Are you still in contact with him? He never replies to anyone else.”

“I wasn’t, actually, but he needs my help.”

“Is he in danger?”

“No, he just needs an extra pair of hands. I won’t be gone long.”

“Wait wait wait, why is he asking you and not Scott?”

“Because I’m his uncle and Scott is a terrible werewolf, unless you hadn’t noticed.”

“That was mean and unnecessary and I would like you to take it back.”

“The way you protect your friend is cute, but he’s crap.”

Stiles frowned at Peter.

Peter sighed. “Look, it might be that he needs someone with experience. That’s all.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks, maybe more. I’m not sure.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

Stiles’ mouth curled into a frustrated grimace. “Fine. I’ll just stay here and mind the pot plants.”

“That you will.”

Not before a few rounds of incredible sex, apparently. But Peter did leave eventually, taking only a small bag with him and promising Stiles he would be back soon. He kissed him slowly and it made Stiles want to follow him, but he stayed put, promising to look after the flat.

“Will you text me?”

“If I can.”

“What if you can’t, what does that mean?”

“It means I’m otherwise occupied. Don’t fret, Stiles, I’m good at looking after myself.”

 

* * *

 

He liked that he was able to talk more with Lydia these days. It helped that they were friends because they were the only two of their friends in the advanced English class this year and they were given a project in the first week. When the teacher ordered them to get into pairs, Stiles was momentarily devastated because he hated working in pairs. It didn’t last long because Lydia sat down next to him. She didn’t smile or say anything but Stiles knew they had a sort of mutual understanding, that she trusted him and maybe even liked him. She had kissed him – that had to count for something.

They were currently at Lydia’s house studying together, trying to figure out their presentation for class, in between the occasional conversation about wolves and banshees and magical trees, et cetera. Lydia was sitting on the bed, notebook on her lap, and Stiles was lying on the floor.

“It’s actually pretty cool, though, this emissary business,” he said, as they talked. “I mean, I get to learn so much stuff. And I’m learning all these weird runes, Peter says I can use them to write protective charms, like create invisible force fields without needing mountain ash. It’s so cool.”

Lydia looked at him for a moment, frowning. Stiles frowned back. “What?”

“The others don’t know, do they?”

“Know – know what?”

“That you’re sleeping with Peter.”

Stiles knew he had hesitated too long, that his silence and shock was enough of an answer for Lydia. “Okay if this is some weird psychic banshee thing you got going on, I am officially requesting you cut that shit out,” said Stiles hurriedly, standing up, but Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Stiles,” she said. “You went from hating Peter to thinking he’s god’s gift to the world. He gave you a key to his flat.”

“Only while he’s away –”

“And he looks at you like he wants to eat you. Constantly.”

“Wow, you are observant.”

“He is overly protective of you and doesn’t trust anybody else to take care of you. That’s why he doesn’t like Scott or Isaac because they’re more concerned with looking after their own asses to take care of yours.”

Stiles was stunned. Lydia was an extremely clever girl. He swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. “You promise you won’t tell them?”

“If I had wanted to tell anybody, I would have done it by now,” she said. She patted the bed next to her and Stiles slumped into the mattress. “Stiles, I want to trust that you know what you’re doing. But – do you know what you’re doing?”

“I think so.”

“Well, that’s definitive.”

Stiles sighed. “I just – he makes me feel safe.”

“Even when you’re covered in bruises?” she asked, taking a hold of his arm and inspecting the purple marks on his forearm where Peter had held him down yesterday. Stiles shivered as he felt Lydia’s hands gently brush over the flesh Peter had ruined.

“He’s violent,” she said.

“Of course he is. It’s Peter.”

“Doesn’t it make you worried?”

“I don’t mind.”

“You know, there are ways to get off without getting hurt, Stiles.”

“He doesn’t –” Stiles began to say that Peter doesn’t hurt him, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that Peter did hurt him. A lot. “You – you’re saying that – even if I had some sort of weird kink –”

“You don’t need somebody to hurt you in order to take care of you,” said Lydia softly.

“But he wants to take care of me.”

“Even if he does have the best of intentions, he can’t spend time with you without giving you some new injury. I trust you, Stiles, but I don’t trust him.”

Stiles scratched at the back of his neck, not knowing what to think. He knew someone would find out eventually, but he had expected backlash of a different kind. He’s old, he’s dangerous, he’s _Peter_. But Lydia’s problem wasn’t with Peter, rather the way he treated Stiles. It made him unsure.

“What do I do?”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then that’s a no. You know what love is like, you were in love with me for years.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” said Stiles, and Lydia smiled. She was teasing him.

“Anytime. But you should know the difference between being in love and being tricked into thinking you’re in love. Peter wants you to believe that you can’t survive without him so that you will stay close to him. But Stiles, you’re smart enough to take care of yourself. Kink or no kink, you deserve to have a little more faith in yourself.”

Stiles stared at her. “I don’t believe that you got all this from looking at my bruises.”

Lydia shrugged. “It’s probably part of the whole ‘psychic crazy lady’ thing. But I like to think I know enough about relationships to help someone out of a bad one.”

“I can’t just stop seeing Peter. He’s like, werewolf inner circle. And I’m werewolf inner circle. Kind of.”

“You’re a teenager, your life is supposed to be about awkward encounters with ex-boyfriends.”

“I’d like to see anybody try to break up with Peter without getting their throat ripped out,” said Stiles. “Seriously. If I try to leave, he could just bite me and order me around.”

“He could. Maybe you need someone to help you out. Someone who can keep Peter at bay.”

“Another alpha.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment before he held up his finger and said, “No way am I telling Scott. Not a fucking chance. He can’t find out I’ve been doing nasty things with creepy uncle Peter.”

Lydia sighed. “Fine. No telling Scott.”

Stiles wanted to say that maybe he could talk to Peter instead, explain that he liked being taken care of but not necessarily bleeding and bruised every time they had sex. Then he thought about Peter and wondered if the man could have sex without hurting somebody. If he could spend time with someone or love someone without bruising them.

With every moment Stiles was less sure about himself and the relationship he was in.

 

* * *

 

When Peter returned Stiles was asleep. He had gone over to take care of his plants and take full advantage of Peter’s cable TV when he had crashed and decided to stay the night, making himself comfortable in Peter’s apartment.

Unfortunately, when Peter returned, he brought Derek with him.

Stiles was startled awake by the sound of an enraged roaring sound and a shattering of glass. Not sure what was happening, Stiles scurried across the bed and dropped to the other side, as far from the door as he could be, his heart hammering in his chest as the sounds of the fight carried down the hall. The apartment wasn’t quite big enough for angry sounds to go unheard.

Not a moment later, the crashing and growling ceased.

“He’s awake.” Stiles breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Peter’s voice. Then he frowned when he realised that Peter was talking about him. Why did it matter that Stiles was awake?

It made sense when Stiles heard Derek’s voice. “Maybe he can explain to me what’s going on, then.”

“I explained. Just because you didn’t like my explanation doesn’t mean it was wrong.”

“I need to hear it from him.”

Stiles could feel the anxiety swell in his chest and they were still talking but he couldn’t hear what was being said, and his head was spinning and he crawled into the corner, curling his knees to his chest and placing his hands over his ears, trying to breathe.

And a moment later Peter was there, his hands around him, helping him stand and move to the bed, holding him and hushing him. “It’s alright, Stiles. I’ve got you.”

“No, no, no, no,” said Stiles, voice breaking. “It’s not okay. Derek knows. He _knows_. What – what will he think of me? I can’t do this.”

“Take a deep breath.”

Stiles did as he was told.

“Good. Now, let me take care of this, alright? Let me take care of you. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

 _Except for you_ , thought Stiles and he was surprised by his own resentment of the man. He had been refusing to believe what Lydia had said but now he was here, holding him, smiling at him as if nothing was wrong, Stiles saw how wrong it all was. Peter was genuinely pleased with himself, as though seeing Stiles break down and panic was something to be happy about. As if he had Stiles in the palm of his hand.

Stiles wasn’t being cared for. He was being held. That was altogether a different matter.

When Peter asked what he was thinking Stiles said nothing, shaking his head. He leaned into the man’s embrace, not wanting to bring up the issue without somebody else there to help him.

And then he realised who that person was.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles rang Derek’s doorbell he wasn’t sure whether he would be home or not. The guy didn’t want to be here, he’d made that much clear when he left. But just as Stiles was about to walk away, the loft door slid open and Derek had grasped his arm and pulled him inside.

“Whoa, hey there,” said Stiles in surprise as he steadied himself. “Uh – what was that all about?”

“I had to make sure you weren’t being followed.”

“I – what?”

“The others can’t know I’m back here. I’m leaving again soon.”

“Uh, okay. Whatever. Look, I just needed –”

Derek had turned back to him and the look on his face told Stiles that Derek already knew what he needed. He needed help.

“Got yourself in the deep end this time, Stiles,” said Derek quietly. Stiles smiled at the small pun, remembering the time they were stuck in the pool, wading for hours, stalked by a predator.

“Yeah. At least I'm not paralysed.”

Before Stiles could say anything else, Derek had stepped towards him and breathed in. “He scratched you.”

Stiles paled but he didn’t bother lying. He hated the weird wolf-sense thing they all had going on. Derek must be able to smell the dried blood on his skin. “Last night. Had to say, I was surprised. First time he’s done that.”

Derek frowned, and it was a severe frown even by Hale standards. “It’s dangerous. He could have turned you.”

“I know. I wasn’t happy about it.”

“Show me.”

Stiles’ lip raised up as he had an internal battle. He didn’t want to show Derek the cuts but he also didn’t want to run away. He needed help. Derek could help him. Stiles slowly turned and lifted his shirt up far enough for Derek to see the lower marks on his back. Stiles hissed when he felt Derek’s hand take the shirt and pull it up to his neck, exposing his whole back, showing the slashes in their entirety. Eight vertical cuts down his back, four on each side. Symmetrical and shallow, but deep enough to make the skin bleed and scab over.

When Derek said nothing, Stiles tried to fill the silence by voicing his curiosities. “You were fighting with him when he got back.”

Derek paused before responding. “Yes.”

“Were you fighting about me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t believe that your relationship is consensual.”

Stiles turned and tried not to wince as the shirt slipped back down over the cuts. “It’s consensual,” he said firmly. “I – I agreed to it. But I didn’t know what I was agreeing to when I did. So I guess it's not consensual, really. I thought – he’d be able to look after me. But he’s –”

“Violent. Aggressive.”

“Yeah.”

“Peter doesn’t understand how to love someone without hurting them.”

“I don’t think he _loves_ me -”

“I think he’s trying,” said Derek calmly. “But he shouldn’t be trying it on you. He’s taking advantage of the fact you’re weaker than us, and you need protection. He’s using you to satisfy his own needs.”

“I thought he wanted to keep me safe,” said Stiles, and he suddenly felt ashamed. He felt stupid for thinking Peter would want anything good for him. Peter was self-obsessed and dangerous.

But Derek didn’t laugh at him or get angry at him for making such a stupid mistake. He simply said, “You don’t need Peter to take care of you.”

Stiles was unsure of what to think for a moment but then he frowned, understanding what Derek was trying to say. “Are you suggesting that you’d do a better job? I can only imagine that slamming my head against a _steering wheel_ or punching me or – or abusing me constantly counts as better than your uncle.”

“Stiles, every time I hit you, you were pushing my buttons.”

“I love pushing your buttons,” Stiles said, pathetically trying to be funny, before he sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just so hard to figure all this out and – and I can’t find a way to tell Peter. I’m so worried he’ll try to – turn me, or whatever. I don’t know how to do it. And you seem to be on my side with this, judging by your reaction yesterday.”

“I told Peter to keep an eye on you when I was gone,” said Derek, interrupting. Stiles fell quiet, and Derek went on. “I didn’t – I never thought he’d want you like that. But he’s done this to others before, and it’s never worked out. He likes to play with his food.”

“I’m not food,” said Stiles firmly, though Peter did like to taste him. He felt himself blushing as he thought it, and Derek raised an eyebrow. “Shut up!”

Derek smirked. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it. Now help me out of this mess, please?”


End file.
